A Fist Full O' Dead Guys Page 8

  13th of January. (42"24' S. latitude 79°33' W. longitude) We saw few ships and no whales. It was brought to my attention that a goodly portion of our stores were spoiled beyond use. Upon inspection, I could determine no cause but that these goods were most likely brought on board in an advanced state of decay. More serious, though, a large number of water casks were damaged and had leaked nearly dry. This damage was probably done during the squalls of Cape Horn.

  4th of February (27°2' S. 76°22' W.) Sailing under moderate to heavy wind. Still no whales sighted. The situation with water being more serious, I suggested to the Capt. that we make for St. Mary's Island (36°59' S. 73"41' W.) to take on wood and water. The Capt., who had always been distant and irritable, had grown increasingly sullen during these weeks of uneventful cruising. He had apparently accrued a considerable level of debt ashore, which was the sole reason for a man of his advanced years going to sea. This voyage was to be the last; his intention being to come home laden with oil, pay off debts, and never work again.

  The Capt. was angry at my report and accused me unjustly of endangering the success of the voyage. He cursed at me as he strode the quarterdeck, in full view and hearing of the crew. "Damn me, Mr. Coffin" he swore, "you shall be the end of this voyage! Never have I shipped with a more worthless mate!" He blamed me for being unaware of the damaged state of our supplies and for not informing him promptly. "But sir," I maintained respectfully, "it is the mate's duty to attend to supply save for emergency situations, which we were not yet near. 1 didn't think to trouble you with such matters." My explanations further fired his terrible wrath. "God damn your impertinence! Do you pretend to tell me my place on board this ship! One more word and I will put you ashore, sir! I have no intention of turning for St. Mary's or Juan Fernandes or any other cursed place. This bark shall cruise until we take whales. And if we do not strike them, by God, I will die at sea!" I dutifully took my place by the wheel, silent in my rage and conscious of the crew's eyes on me as I had never been before.

  27th of February. (7°25' S. 83°15' W.). No whales. We spoke the Rambler, Capt. Holliwell out of New York. They were running down after two successful years in Nootka and the Bering Sea; their hold near bursting with 500 barrels sperm oil, 1800 barrels whale oil and 13,000 pounds of whalebone. Capt. Holliwell advised that if our intentions were to proceed northward to British Columbia or Kodiak we should make for Oahu first and give California a wide berth. Rambler had run near the Maze waters where she found herself pursued by marauders and had barely outrun a Mexican warship.

  This warning would have been well-heeded. Few whalers in my memory had ventured into the haunted waters of the Maze. It was not just for fear of pirates and privateers, although that threat was real enough, as Rambler could attest, and many a captain seeking a fast run along the coast had lost hard-won cargo to raiders. But it was tales of other things that kept most ships from the Maze. Seamen are a superstitious lot and the waters off the Maze were dread to the wisest of them.

  Capt. Holliwell graciously provided fresh water and food before going on his way south.

  For the next several weeks, we saw no whales and the supplies from Rambler were quickly consumed. We sailed around the Peru grounds under generally moderate wind. We saw several sails, but did not speak. Every day I hoped for the order to proceed to the Galapagos or on to Oahu. Most of the crew, being able seamen who had shipped on whalers before, were grievously concerned that we had seen not a single spout. Coriolanus was a deeply unhappy ship.

  Mr. Surfeit, a harpooner from New Bedford, a tall dark Devilish man of Basque blood, was particularly difficult. But worse. He had a disturbed, ungodly nature that, to my shame, I perceived only in hindsight. Mr. Surfeit also had the Capt.'s attention to an unnatural degree. They had sailed together previously and the Capt. admired this harpooner's skill and trusted his knowledge of the whaling trade. They would closet themselves together in the Capt.'s cabin and there, by the greasy shadows of whale oil light, this cabal of two plotted the fate of the ship. The harpooner spun dangerous and terrible lies of sailing near the Maze. Grand tales of whales plentiful and unhunted Mr. Surfeit poured into the Capt.'s ear.

  This disturbing intercourse between the ship's master and a common seaman was upsetting to the natural balance. Mr. Surfeit flaunted his undeserved position, but he was clever as only a cunning animal can be. Despite the freedoms allowed to his creature, the Capt. was careful to preserve proprieties of rank. I was the lawful lsl mate and he could not bear the chance that his final voyage might end in recriminations delivering the shares into the interminable grip of maritime lawyers. The 2nd mate, Mr. Chase, and 3rd mate, Mr. Whitman, struggled to maintain the crumbling fiction of my position before the crew at all times. Still, the damnable harpooner demonstrated clearly his contempt for me to his grinning fellows. Nothing good could come of it.

  21st of March (15a41' N 118°25' W). No whales. A bloody day We had begun to sail generally WNW and my heart lightened believing we would eventually strike for Oahu. But on this day the Capt. came on deck midday, blinking against the light of an overcast sky, so unusual was it for him to attend his ship's business. Mr. Surfeit stalked from the cabin behind him. The Capt. gathered the crew aft and brusquely announced we were to sail for the waters off the Maze.

  Some members of the crew began to shout boldly that they would not sail there. Terence Meaney, able seaman and Godfearing Irishman, stepped forward brandishing a knife at the Capt. "By God, I'll see you in Hell and me hanged for a rebel before I see this ship in the Maze!" With the Devil's speed, Mr. Surfeit put a harpoon through Meaney, pinning him to the gunwales where he spouted blood. His jaw worked in silent shock until he died there before our eyes.

  The Capt. produced a pistol from his belt and fired into the air and pointed the weapon at the stunned crew. Mr. Surfeit seized up another harpoon and pronounced in his corrupt voice, "This ship sails as the Captain wills. But be aware that we are sailing to the finest whaling grounds on the face of this blue earth." He smiled at the men. "Indeed, yes. Mates, I tell you, the Maze is rich. Rich beyond your dreams. I sailed there five years ago on Cotton Mather." The crew exchanged glances among themselves and their fear deepened. Cotton Mather had sailed from Nantucket and was lost with no word. Mr. Surfeit continued, "Aye, I was on that fabled ship. We sailed the waters off the Maze and, I tell you true, it was thick with whale-sperm, humpback, right, bowhead. So thick you could walk on their backs for a mile or more without ever getting your feet wet. We took all we could carry, and more. If King Midas was a sailor, we were richer still."

  I could bear no more of his haughty lies. "Where are your riches? Where is your ship? Where are your shipmates?"

  Mr. Surfeit stopped smiling and stepped across the quarterdeck. He leaned on his harpoon and stared brazenly at me with his mad eyes. His breath stank of alcohol. "Wrecked, Mr. Coffin. Wrecked upon the rocks and lost in the deep. I was the only survivor of that most unlucky vessel."

  Another crewman shouted out. "But what of the beasts of the Maze? We'll be swallowed whole!"

  Mr. Surfeit turned from me and laughed. "There are no beasts! There is nothing but whales, lads. League after league of oil waiting to be taken. And I promise you one thing further, the riches we bring home will allow each and every one of you to do as you wish, captain your own vessel or leave the sea and never return! A life of leisure awaits you, my boys. A life of leisure!"

  Nothing so convinces a man, and moreso a seaman, as the promise of money and ease. The crew quickly forgot tales of danger. They began to chatter among themselves about how they would spend their money when they returned home. Mr. Surfeit said to me in the most audacious display of his power, "Mr. Coffin, come nor'nor'west and make all speed." Then he pointed at the body of Mr. Meaney. "And dispose of that mutineer, if you please." He did not wait for an answer but glanced at me with a savage eye and returned with the Capt. to the cabin.

  Ulh of April (33a20' N 119Q23' W). For near a week we have sailed these
waters off the Maze and once briefly ventured close enough to see the dreadful outline of the wretched shore. Light airs. The heat intense. Barely a breeze to trouble the surface of the water. Shortly after noon the heat was broken by a call from the masthead "She blows!" It was as if the ship was electrified. "Where away?" I shouted and the response was "Two points abaft the starboard beam!" The ship came alive with stamping feet and I peered through my glass. Sure there was a spout. No, two spouts! I heard the guttural laugh of Mr. Surfeit behind me where he clung in the shrouds like a spider and watched the spouts. The promise of whales seemed to reassert the natural order and 1 purposefully refused to call his boat to the chase. Instead, I sent the 2nd mate Mr. Chase to man his boat and I took the steering oar in mine and called "Away boats!"

  I screamed "Bend to it, lads! Bend to it, by Hell!" and the boats skimmed over the surface of the ocean. Mr. Chase took the lead. I laughed to think of Mr. Surfeit cursing his voice hoarse as we both pulled away from the ship. Mr. Chase had the lead on the nearest fish, so we made for the second a mile further. My crew was five in number, with Mr. Rodrigues, a fine Portuguese harpooner, in the bow. The blackness of the voyage was momentarily forgotten in the creak of the oars, the thrill of hissing water, and the sound of men pulling in pursuit of whale.

  The sea was still. Our whale rested on the surface, a black mound three or four feet above the water. A perfect sperm. "Ship oars," I ordered and the boat crew switched to paddles. As we quietly rowed closer, I said "Stand up" and Mr. Rodrigues moved into position in the bow. The whale glided effortlessly at two knots, breath huffing through his blow hole. His dark hide was crusted with barnacles and odd fist-sized protuberances. Sea birds circled above. We came wood to blackskin and Mr. Rodrigues made ready.

  I felt the boat lose way the same moment I saw the crew, all facing astern, stare transfixed beyond my back, no longer attending their duties. So commanding were their visages that even though a beast that could easily kill us was within arms reach, I found myself turning to look. To my amazement, barely a cable length astern, Mr. Chase's whaleboat submerged. Sliding down around it were many ghastly black ropes, wrapped around the unlucky boat and its inhabitants. Then there was only a ring of foam on the water to indicate where our shipmates once had been.

  Our boat quivered. Mr. Rodrigues, attending only his prey, had struck the whale. The peculiar knobs on its hide opened to reveal numberless eyes. The beast shuddered and rolled away from us in agony. "Stern all!" I cried but two of my crew were lost in wonder at the horror that befell Mr. Chase and the sight of the thing that churned the water in front of us like a black mountain. The other two pulled heroically on their oars to back us away, but a fluke rose and struck us a thunderous blow from below. The impact knocked Mr. Rodrigues into the sea, stove a hole in our side, and washed the boat half full of water. The belly of the beast rolled up into the sunlight streaming with water and revealing itself covered with repulsive, wriggling ropy cables like the tentacles of a squid. It reached out to drown us as its brother did for poor Mr. Chase and his crew. I seized a lance and plunged the iron deep into the beast. It shrank from the blow, but still grabbed up Thomas Collingwood, able seaman. His pitiable screams were forever suffocated when the creature sounded and took the unfortunate man to the bottom of the sea.

  The harpoon line screamed out over the loggerhead with a speed I had never seen before. The friction pulled the bow of the boat downward, hoisting the stern clear of the water. The crew was in disorder. Only three men remained beside myself. One was still rowing feverishly away from the whale's former position, but his efforts were merely turning the whaleboat in a slow, pointless arc. One man was reaching out with a paddle for Mr. Rodrigues, the harpooner, who was swimming for us. The last man sat listlessly staring into the air. I called for him to douse the loggerhead before the smoking rope caused the boat to burst into flame, but he refused to hear. Meanwhile, I quickly bent another coil of 200-fathom line to the first for fear the beast would drag us under.

  Mr. Rodrigues climbed aboard and immediately seized up a hatchet. He made to cut the harpoon line. When I shouted for him to stop, he waved the hatchet at me and screamed in Portuguese. He brought the hatchet down on the rope, but it was moving at such speed that the blade glanced off and flew from his grip into the sea. The harpooner was so consumed by fear that, still screeching in his native tongue, he reached for the rope and in a blink of an eye it crushed his hand against the loggerhead and sliced off his fingers. He stared at his hand and watched the blood run down his arm.

  Suddenly, the line pulled taut and with a tremendous force the boat was under the cold water. I kicked free and struggled toward the surface. Bobbing to the top, I saw two other faces near me gasping for breath. Mr. Rodrigues was not one of them. I had rarely known such fear as I did floating in the water thinking of that great black thing swimming somewhere unseen beneath my kicking feet.

  Another whaleboat arrived with Mr. Surfeit in the bow and they took we three survivors aboard. He shook his head like a disgusted taskmaster and motioned with his harpoon, "If you dare strike, strike to kill." Too exhausted for anger, I replied, "Did you know of those things? Why did you not warn us of their nature?" He shrugged. No more was said as we returned to Coriolanus. Two boats lost. Nine men gone, including Mr. Chase, 2nd mate, a fine Christian man. A horrendous butcher's bill this day.

  19th of April (35Q12' N 122°03' W). Light winds. We saw whales every day, or what appeared to be whales on the surface. However, no man would take to the boats and give chase. Our chances of survival diminished with our stores. Hunger had turned the ship into an asylum of drawn men, staring into the distance. There was no longer even the pretense of order. The Capt. never emerged from his cabin and only spoke to Mr. Surfeit. The door to the Capt.'s cabin was kept locked and only Mr. Surfeit had a key. In circumstances more ordinary, I would have used force to take command and sail for the nearest port. But my authority was gone and, although conditions dictated we should long ago have experienced bloody mutiny, Mr. Surfeit had taken much of the crew into an agreement, spreading some evil message among them that kept them from acting in violence. It was not until much later that I learned what horrible thing he was promising them, but as of that time the routine of the ship had passed effectively into his hands. Mr. Whitman, the new 2nd mate, was my only confidant. He was a young man on his second voyage and fear never left his eyes. We survived only by Mr. Surfeit's apparent lack of interest in us and by our continued silence.

  At 9:00 o'clock that night I stood at the taffrail, seeking solitude. The sea was still, silent, and dark. I watched a long, luminous trail of green phosphorescence quivering out behind the ship. The moon was waxing through its first quarter. The crew had succumbed to the lethargy that comes with lack of food and the quietude of a stifling hot night. Mr. Surfeit stalked the deck as he had taken to doing most hours of the day, as always, staring over the ocean, I assumed, searching for the spout of whales.

  The slight breeze suddenly brought a sweet smell. My abrupt and frightening first thought was that we had foolishly drifted near land and this was the scent of flowers from shore. But my senses were captured immediately by the calming scent. I drew it into my lungs and was rewarded by the wonderful emotion of the purity of home and loved ones, a feeling I thought never to have again. So absorbed was I that at first I didn't notice Mr. Surfeit standing at my side, taking in deep draughts of air. His eyes burned in the glow of the stern lantern.

  Out in the dark water, something jumped and splashed. Mr. Surfeit laughed deep in his throat and immediately turned, shouting, "Back sails!" Several of his loyalists staggered to their feet, clapped onto the braces, and brought the yards around until we were dead stalled. Out in black sea, something cut across the green phosphor trail. It submerged with a flash of whiteness and a loud slap on the water. Some distance off the port beam came the report of another splash.

  Then a strange sound wafted out of the dark. At first I thought it was the call o
f whales, a not uncommon sound on still nights at sea. But this was something very different. It was a song, but not from a human voice. The men stood where they were, mouths agape, peering into the darkness around them. I felt a lightness and tranquility akin to that brought on by a quantity of the finest port by a crackling hearth on a frigid night. The shimmering water blurred before my eyes.

  Then I saw an amazing thing. A point or two off the port quarter, a woman was swimming through the steel gray sea that lapped beneath the glow of the ship's lanterns. She was naked and staring up openly at the ship. I watched her for a moment as if in a dream before I realized it was unnatural. A shipwreck victim, my addled mind told me, and I decided it was necessary to leap into the water to save her. But I could not make my legs and arms begin their motions. Then she smiled, as any woman would while promenading on a Sunday afternoon to greet the gaze of a bold young man, and she dove under the water. Her tail slapped the water as she disappeared.

  A mermaid. A mermaid, by God.

  The men crowded the side where the mermaid had appeared. They craned their necks searching for her again. And soon she appeared just abaft the beam. She rose up, her arms slowly caressing the water. The sedate sea molded warmly around her breasts. Her hair lay across her face and shoulders. She lifted her face and produced an achingly sweet song. The men near swooned from it.

  The harpoon struck above her right breast. It penetrated and the barb protruded from her well-formed back. Her song stopped in a confused gurgle and she instantly submerged into the water.

  Mr. Surfeit held the harpoon line with all his might, his foot braced against the gunwale. Despite his strength, the line began to rip out through his rough hands. He shouted, "Clap on, mates! She's going down!" The men looked as if they were shaken from a dream. Several rapidly came to and grabbed the rope. They heaved in unison, mindless work for a seaman. Soon they were making headway and the mermaid fitfully broke the surface again. She flailed her arms wildly. Sickening squealing noises emerged from her distended mouth. With a great effort, the men pulled her clear of the water and she slammed heavily against the side of the ship.